Doppelgänger
by oneiromancer242
Summary: Sequel to the undeclared crossover "In The Mouth of Madness". A decade after those strange events, Quicksilver and Warlock visit the Murder House again to see if any 'friends' are still around. An oddly familiar boy, a plain odd Southern Belle, and two mutants in a haunted house - what could possibly go wrong?
1. Chapter 1

**Super-Long A/N : hp80 and Inavia - we were all thinking how cute Peter and Tate meeting would be. So I did it. Anything to make me feel a bit better after "Requiescat" right? I am so, SO sorry about Constance's disgustingly inappropriate language. Sadly it's totally in her character, but please rest assured I'm cringing as I type her dialogue. I'm thinking probably a three-parter for this one.**

 **POLLS : I am now working on : an AU with Nina at the Academy, and Peter in A:AoU rather than Pietro and Wanda, both of which take a lot more work than my other stuff, so may be posted and updated a lot more slowly than usual. In the meantime, there will be this and a few other little ideas.**

 **Now finally - the actual fic:**

1.

"How're you planning on playing this, anyway?" Peter tapped on the steering wheel in time to the music. Gave the younger boy beside him a look over the top of his shades, "Hi, I'm Leon, I used to talk to the dead people in your house. Mind if I come in so we can hook back up?"

"Actually that's exactly how I was planning to play it" Leon admitted, "Anyway, it's been ten years - maybe it's empty?"

Peter popped open the glove compartment and flipped a copy of the LA Times into Leon's lap, already folded open at a small story about a man and his maid apparently shooting one another in a murder-suicide pact. It was dated the previous week.

"Not unless they moved out real fast" he drawled, "I've kept an eye on the place, couldn't get it out of my head. It's occupied. Nice little family, apart from the Father who shot the maid and then himself"

Leon couldn't think of anything to say to that. Watched Peter drive a little longer, mouthing along to the words, keeping up his rhythmic tapping. He barely looked a day older than he had been when they'd met, though he'd grown his hair long now. Seemed to have gently tended away from his rock-and-roll years and towards a slightly Grungy style recently. At 37-looking-20 he could get away with it in a way that someone his age really shouldn't have been able to. Leon caught himself thinking what a shame it was that Peter was straight, getting married next year, and nearly twice his age, not for the first time either in general or on this particular car journey. Put those thoughts away with a little sigh, resumed his staring out of the window.

"Can we have something else on?" he said, "Something that's not all about death and drugs and stuff?"

"Dude, what's wrong with Nirvana? Anyway it's not about that, you're just not listening to the lyrics"

"I can't hear a word that guy's saying, that's why!"

Peter swerved into a gap between two parked cars, brought the car to a skidding halt that somehow ended up perfectly parallel-parked, carefully removed his shades and gave Leon a searching, solemn look

"Kurt Cobain was a genius, man" he told him, "And it's not his fault you can't tell what he's saying because you blasted out your eardrums with all that D&D crap"

"R&B" Leon corrected, "D&D is a game. You're starting to sound old, homie"

"I hate it when you talk ghetto" Peter muttered, "Anyway, move your fat ass, time to go see your old friends"

"My ass wouldn't be fat if it weren't for you!" Leon shouted at him as he strode off down the street, trotted to keep up with him. Peter smirked at him

"Oh sure, I *forced* you to always eat with me. I'd tell you to take a little responsibility but you'd just tell me I sound old again"

Leon bristled at him. Hated it when he was right, which was most of the time. Thought that if they were a couple, which people sometimes thought from how easy and tactile they were with one another, they'd be the kind who yelled at each other over the dishes every single night. Not much had changed about the house over the past decade. The hedges still trimmed to perfection, Victorian exterior still looking in beautiful condition. He supposed they must keep the house pretty neat given how often it changed hands. Less work for a realtor if it still looked in great shape when they next came to sell it. Intent on the front door, they hadn't noticed the woman relaxing on a lounger in what looked like a brand-new wood-panelled gazebo, but their attention had soon been drawn by her when she had called out, got up from her seat, and marched over still with a cocktail in her hand.

"Tate!" she snapped, a Southern twang immediately detectable in her voice, "What the heck have you done to your hair, boy?!"

Reaching out as though to stroke her hand through Peter's hair, looking puzzled when he dodged away and gave her a strange look, before her lipsticked mouth formed a little _Ohhh_ of understanding, and she simpered in an embarrassed way

"Oh I do apologise" she smiled, "You look so much like my son, for a moment there I thought it was him, but I see now you're a little older. Do pardon my mistake. You're here to look around, I suppose?"

The two exchanged a look, before Leon had spotted the 'For Sale' sign on the front lawn that they had entirely overlooked before.

"Yes M'am" Peter said quickly, "Is it a convenient time?"

"Oh of course! Come on in, I'll fix you both a glass of lemonade. Unless you'd care to join me in somethin' stronger?" she gave them a predatory smile, "But where are my manners? I'm Mrs Constance Langdon, the lady of the house"

She offered a hand. Peter was not quite sure if he should kiss it or shake it, and by the time he had decided Leon had already jumped in with a gentle shake, introducing them both. She led them into the house, clittering along in impractical high heeled shoes, poised and proper but with an undeniable air of flirtation that made them both a little uncomfortable.

"Are you sure you don't mind, Mrs Langdon? We wouldn't want to intrude on –"

"Oh not at *all* boys," she smiled, "An' don't you be self-conscious now. I'm a woman of the world, I have no grudge against the coloureds _or_ the queers. You're both perfectly welcome"

Letting her lead them into the kitchen, Peter hiked his eyebrows at an open-mouthed Leon, mouthed _Yikes!_ at him. Followed the glamourous woman into the very familiar kitchen. It was oddly like stepping back in time ten years – only the cooking equipment was different, the décor was very much unchanged.

"Now, would you like me to give you a tour, or jus' look around for yourselves?" she asked, "You won't be putting me to any trouble at all either way"

"Actually, Mrs Langdon – if you wouldn't mind, Leon –" he indicated the younger boy – "Would like to have a look at the basement? He collects model trains, and he'd just *love* the space for it all to himself"

"What a charming hobby" Constance simpered again. It was already starting to get on Peter's nerves, "You go on down, honey. I'll take your – what do you two call each other? Partners? Boyfriends?..."

"Hubbies" Leon said, flashed Peter a grin.

"Well that's just cute as can be isn't it? I'll take your Hubby and show him around, and you go on and check out the lower floors, see if you can make space for your little choo-choos. How about that drink first?"

Agreeing, they let Constance clitter away to the larder and the refrigerator therein. Peter gave Leon a hard look and hissed

"Hubbies?!"

"Model trains, dude! I freakin' *owed* you one"

"Here you go, boys" Constance returned with two tall glasses, "I just made a pitcher of Long Island Iced Tea, and you simply must try some. It's wonderful in this weather"

The tea was strong, but delicious, and they were both thirsty after the long drive. Leon felt it go to his head almost immediately, was very glad that the relatively small amount of booze would in no way impede Peter from driving, finished it off probably a little quickly. Constance held the door for him to descend downstairs, gave him another of those too-wide too-flirty smiles

"Now you be careful down there," she warned sweetly, "People have been known to come a cropper. You just holler if you need anything"

She closed the door on him. Leon was glad he knew the way, as it left him in total darkness. Picked his way down the stairs from memory, feeling for his friends.


	2. Chapter 2

**TRIGGER WARNINGS for self-harm and drug use, and again Constance's awful attitude. My what a happy little chapter...**

 **NEW POLL on my profile, just for fun :-)**

2.

Constance took Peter's arm, not hard but firmly and in a way that for some reason made his skin crawl. Allowed her to lead him upstairs

"You're not a local boy," she noted, "What brings you over to sunny California?"

"Oh… umm. Leon, really" he said truthfully, "He's from around here"

"And you followed him" she laughed lightly, "I can see who wears the pants in *your* relationship"

She gently slid her hand down to take his left, ran her thumb over the gold engagement band on his third finger, made a little coo that set Peter's teeth on edge. He was _really_ beginning to dislike her, hoped Leon was grateful for him putting up with this for him.

"It's adorable that you wear a ring for him. That make you the 'girl', Little Long-Hair?" she asked, elongating the vowels and flashing another of those carnivorous smiles, "That's how it works isn't it?"

Peter thought he might die of embarrassment, not so much for himself but for this woman who probably thought she was being terribly progressive. In all honesty he didn't mind being taken for gay – it wasn't the first time and he really didn't care – but the way she talked, it was as if the Pride Movement never happened. Grinned in a strained way, thought, _I'm so sorry, Angie…_ and replied

"I guess it does"

She whizzed him around the upstairs floors on a whistle-stop tour, pointed out all the well-preserved Art-Deco features, the antique panelling, everything that made the house far more valuable and beautiful than it was being sold for. Kept up a continual stream of chatter with the occasional pause to ask another irritating, wholly inappropriate prying question about himself and the younger boy. The room he had stayed in with his father was now a junk room, piled up with old boxes and suitcases, and he smiled slightly remembering how he'd bid a fond goodbye to a little girl in there a decade ago.

"This would make a lovely little nursery, if you feel like adoptin' " Constance was saying, "Now I have to know, would you get a little one who was –"

Feeling another awful slur coming on, Peter interrupted her quickly

"We don't want kids," he said, "We're too busy"

"I suppose you've both got careers to think about" she said sympathetically, "What *do* you do?"

"I… run a gym" Peter said, again truthfully though he didn't do it alone, "Leon is... umm, well he's freelance"

He hoped that would do, glad to see that she seemed to accept it. Gave him another simpering smile and a tilt of the head. Finally said

"I'll let you have a nosey around for a while without me over your shoulder. Be down in the kitchen when you're done, is that alright with you?"

He nodded, breathed a heavy sigh of relief when she had turned and tapped away down the stairs. Now all he had to do was occupy himself until Leon had finished catching up with his friends down in the basement, then they could hightail it out of here and leave that awful woman in the dust. That creepy feeling of eyes on him had returned, and as he made to go up to the third and final floor he spotted a door open a crack and a pair of very dark eyes watching him intently. Almost jumped, but managed to suppress it.

"Are you moving in?" the owner of the eyes asked. The voice was eerily familiar, though Peter couldn't place why, "Don't. This house sucks"

"It seems okay to me" he said, stepped a little closer. The owner of the dark eyes neither retreated nor opened the door any further, "I'm Peter"

"Tate" the boy said, finally opened the door a little more, "You wanna see my room? If you're lookin' around, you might as well"

Through the opened door Peter could hear music, and he grinned as he recognised it

"Is that 'Heart Shaped Box'?" he asked. Tate nodded, gave him a crooked smile, raked his eyes down the older boy, seeing the Nirvana t-shirt and looking approving. The room beyond the door was exactly what Peter would do with it – if he was seventeen again and moody as hell, that is. Band posters plastering the walls, a huge rack of CDs, thick curtains drawn to let in only the smallest bit of daylight. No wonder Tate was so pale if he hid behind the curtains like this all the time. The other boy returned to his seat on a cushion on the floor, sat down cross-legged and leaned over to finish what he had been doing. It was warm enough in there that he slipped his shoulders out of his trenchcoat, folded it and sat down on it beside Tate.

The boy looked sad, somehow, Peter couldn't help but think. Not in the way he had been though, but in an angry, discontented way. His large, dark eyes were set in shadows that somehow enhanced their beauty, hair grown long and wavy and bleached at some point, though he hadn't kept on top of the dark roots growing through. He was just a little bigger built than Peter himself, despite that seeming delicate and having that same air of needing to be looked after and hugged. Finishing what he'd been doing, he lit up the joint he'd made, sitting back and taking a long drag.

"You met my Mom?" he asked, though it seemed more like a statement. Peter nodded. "She's pretty kooky, huh?"

The older boy hesitated, then nodded again. Tate cracked another of those weirdly familiar crooked grins. He could see why Constance had mistaken them – Tate wasn't soft and friendly-looking like him, but he couldn't deny that they looked so similar that they might have been brothers. There was something else in Tate though that Peter couldn't have identified in himself – an anger, a sense of barely-leashed need to lash out, something dangerous and dark under the surface.

"You wanna hit this?" he held the joint out. Peter thought about refusing, then considered it probably wouldn't do anything anyway and took it. Discovered within a couple of minutes that he was wrong, and that the odd rushing sensation wasn't at all unpleasant. Tate was studying his bare arm, he could feel the intense dark eyes on his skin, and he raised an eyebrow in question

"You cut too?" Tate asked, reached and look Peter's arm, ran his thumb over the thin silver scars, "These are pretty old"

"Umm, yeah" Peter drew his arm back quickly, covered the scars with his other hand, feeling deeply uncomfortable. He hated those scars, wished there was some way to fade them completely. Had even considered a skin graft to get rid of them. Tate gave him a curious, sad look, rolled back his sleeve. Long pink marks striped his forearm, some looking years old, others seeming to have been made very recently. Wanting to get out of the conversation, Peter stood too fast, felt his head swim a bit before it steadied, went over to examine the rack of CDs more closely. Most of them bore a few tell-tale scrapes on the side of the package, indicating to Peter's practiced eye that the security tag had been expertly removed before they had left the store – but not by the staff. He couldn't really judge, though in his own shoplifting days, there hadn't been that sort of security technology.

"You have some pretty cool music" he said, impressed at the collection. Spotted a Yes album or two, some Soft Machine, the anniversary re-issue of Dark Side of The Moon.

"Pick some tunes if you want, man" Tate told him, watching him flick through the collection and return with a copy of 'Happy Trails'. Tate grinned. "QMS, good choice"

They had sat quietly for a while together, finished their smoke. Peter tried not to consider the surreality of the situation, sitting in a dark room with a boy he didn't know and yet who looked so much like him it was uncomfortable, seeming quite contented with his presence as if strangers walked in to share his music every day. A little startled when Tate had spoken again, giving him a searching look that he didn't really like.

"You're weird aren't you?" he said, "Like me"

"Weird? Well… that's…" he stopped, felt there was little point in denying it, "Guess I am"

"I bet all the kids hated you at school" Tate muttered, seemed to be looking right through Peter. He looked shocked a moment then said

"Hated is a strong word. Mostly they kinda ignored me. 'Sides I got kicked out when I was 14"

"You were lucky. You didn't have to deal with them anymore"

"Is this normal for you?" Peter couldn't help asking, "Inviting people into your room to show them your scars and tell them how much you hate the world?"

Unexpectedly, Tate had laughed at that. Peter really didn't like the sound of that laugh, something low and furious and scheming in it. Maybe their similarities ended at their looks after all, even if he did dig some pretty good music.

"It's not normal for me to have anyone here to tell" he said, smiling but sounding bitter all the same. Peter's outlook on him softened a little. After all, it would have been easy for him to have been angry and frustrated himself at that age, instead of lonely and miserable, blaming himself instead of others for the fact he didn't have any friends.

"Don't you talk to your Mom?" he asked. Saw another of those sneering smiles, shuddered.

"My Mom's wacko, and she doesn't have time for anyone but herself" Tate told him, Peter considered it a moment, then shrugged

"Yeah she does seem kinda wrapped up in herself" he admitted, "There's got to be someone though? I mean dude, you can't sit up here and smoke pot and listen to your music all day?"

"I can. Nobody gives a crap. Nobody ever would unless I did something to make them"

That statement seemed to have a warning inside it, Peter felt an odd sensation creep up his spine, an urge to run. Wondered if he was feeling paranoid, or if there really was something very wrong with this boy who had his face but not his sweet nature.

"Like what?" he heard himself asking. Wondered why, thought he didn't really want to know. Another of those toothy, almost-cute smiles from Tate that made him feel unsettled and suspicious.

"Something they'd never forget" the younger boy whispered, drew breath to go on, but was interrupted by a call from downstairs somewhere. "That's for you. She never hollers for me"

Reluctantly, Peter got to his feet, glad to feel that the woozy sensation had passed off, reached down to shake Tate's hand. His grip was firm and cool, and there was something glittering in the depths of his eyes that really gave Peter the creeps.

"Don't do anything dumb, Tate" he told him. Hoped he didn't sound like an old guy, "Thanks for the company"

"Pleasure," Tate muttered. Didn't move from his cross-legged position on the floor, "You know, you look familiar. Have you been on TV or something?"

"Umm, maybe" he said, wondered if the LA networks carried the news from Westchester, "I dunno dude. I'm not famous or anything"

"I'm gonna be famous" Tate told him, dropped the hand, "One day. You'll see"

That was enough for Peter. He heard his name called again, backed out of the door, looked at the boy sitting staring at the floorboards one last time and suppressed another shudder before leaving the room. When he was out he leaned against the rails, feeling his heart hammering harder than usual, glad to have the fresher air in the hallway. Stood for a moment steadying himself, sure that it was more than just whatever they'd smoked that was getting to him. It almost felt as if the influence of this house was even stronger than it had been before, and he was glad to be leaving it again as he made his way back down the stairs.

Leon was waiting for him there. He looked a little pale too, like meeting up with old friends hadn't been as pleasant as it could have been. He reached for Peter's hand, gave it a little squeeze. Both felt a little shaky.

"You can arrange things through the realtor if you decide to buy our lovely home," Constance was saying as she ushered them toward the front door, "I'm sure you'd both be very happy here. Lord knows I'd stay, but it's so big with just the three of us"

They exchanged a look, could feel each other thinking, _three?_ Pulled themselves together and thanked her politely. They could feel her eyes on their backs as they walked back down the driveway, not a pleasant sensation at all but a glowering, hard look that seemed to burn on the back of their necks.

 **A/N : So for those who haven't seen AHS : Murder House, Tate *did* get famous, kind of. He was a school shooter. So yeah, that happened... Just goes to show what a versatile actor Evan Peters is that he can play both the sweet and charming Quicksilver and the deeply disturbed Tate Langdon with equal skill.**

 **I understand that some of you may have been touched by something like what Tate did. I just want you to know that I have no intention of triggering bad memories, and hope you are all well and having a great day today. As always, if you feel bad please tell someone. xx**


	3. Chapter 3

3.

Climbing into the car, Peter sat back in his seat, drew a deep breath and let it out slowly through pursed lips. Sat quietly for a moment or two before he had plastered a smile on his face and turned to Leon, sitting similarly staring straight out of the windscreen.

"So, how was your day Hubby? Have a nice little catch-up?"

"It's changed in there," the boy said quietly. Didn't look at Peter, "The house, it's… it's gotten stronger. They've got form now"

"Oh, I hear ya," Peter sighed, jammed the keys into the ignition, "That place is like a sinkhole for bad juju. Felt it myself, and I can't even do the ooky-spooky thing"

"The husband didn't shoot the maid, y'know" he said, "It was her – that woman. She killed them both. The maid's under that summerhouse thing in the yard"

"I knew she was creepy" Peter shuddered a little, reached over and took Leon's hand again, "You okay? You look kinda shook up"

"I'm fine. Thanks for bringing me – I, I won't come back again"

"That bad huh?"

"Yeah"

Leon was quiet for a while as they pulled out of the street before he had finally continued

"Did you do OK with Crazy Lady?"

"Oh yeah, she thinks I'm the girl and I met my Evil Twin Double. I think he's probably gonna kill himself or someone else pretty soon. Great day, do it again any time"

Leon chuckled a little at that. Noticed that Peter still had hold of his hand, resting it over the gearstick as if they were both driving. Looked at their joined hands and smiled softly.

"Thanks for being my Hubby today" he smiled shyly, "You know I'd never make a move on you for real, right? I mean you're cute as anything, but you don't go that way. I get that"

Giving Leon a strange look, Peter nodded, smiled at him sweetly and comfortingly

"Dude, It's cool. Just because you like guys doesn't mean I think you're gonna jump me because I'm a guy. I get that you like me, and I'm flattered. But you respect both me and Angie way too much to make things hard for any of us. That being said though - " he reached over and patted Leon's prominent belly, "If I did go for guys, I'd like 'em chunky"

He winked, gave Leon a wide grin. They both laughed comfortably. Drove on for a while before Peter had spotted a drive-thru and immediately turned in

"Don't know about you but I could eat a horse" he said, "You hungry?"

"I could eat. As always. You got the munchies dude? You stink of weed"

"And how do you know what that smells like?"

Leon looked a little embarrassed, before he had realised Peter was kidding and returned his grin.

"Your Evil Twin, huh?" he asked, "What was he like?"

"Terrifying." Peter answered quickly, "Just…. Lost, man. Like I could have been if I hadn't had the good people I needed around me. It was horrible, like looking at a me that might have happened if I was furious and twisted up inside. I never want to see anything like that again"

He hadn't been willing to elaborate. They sat in the car and ate their burgers, drove on to the motel they had taken for the night. Made the journey back to Westchester leaving just after dawn the next morning and tried to forget what they had both seen and experienced in that house yet again. Peter forget to cancel his subscription to the Los Angeles Times, and was nauseated but unsurprised when a month later he had seen that horribly familiar face in a story yet again. This time a yearbook picture, but posted above a headline about a massacre at a school. He cancelled the paper the same day, burned that copy. Spent all the time he could with his friends and tried never to think about the boy who had his face, but that nobody had been able to save.


End file.
